


Calico Skies

by MurdersintheMorgue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluffy, Russians, Soulmates, also haughty fashion gal sorry, also mentions of HORROR like boddy horror, and its only in media ie drawings or movies, kinda smutty but it takes a bit, only mentions though no real descriptions, smh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurdersintheMorgue/pseuds/MurdersintheMorgue
Summary: “Apparently, when you open it, you’re supposed to apparate in front of your soulmate.” Fred informed his brother with a cocky tone. Verity let out another frustrated sound.“Yes! Your soulmate! The one you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life!” She whined, moving to tug at Fred’s sleeve, who pushed her away slightly.“Don’t believe in soulmates, do you, Fred?” George asked haughtily. Fred huffed with disdain.“No, George, I don’t believe in any of that rubbish. Stars this and lovers that. All made up by desperate witches hoping to trick a man into falling in love because it was ‘meant to be’.”
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter One: Faina

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Faina does like horror & draws it-- it's something that will be explained and I'm not going to go into serious detail with gore or anything it but there will be some talk about body horror, post-mortem changes and the way that gore is portrayed in film (like cgi or practical effects)

* * *

_"According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves."_

_What a load of rubbish,_ thought George as he put the book down and walked away. ([quote source](https://elligold.com/the-myth-of-soulmates/#:~:text=As%20Plato%20puts%20it%3A,search%20of%20their%20other%20halves.%E2%80%9D))

* * *

Faina Davis could have sworn that the man in front of her had just appeared out of nowhere. 

She’d been walking back to the tube, arms full of groceries, minding her own business when a tall, ginger man was suddenly in her way. Faina had nearly ran into him, and stumbled as she tried to keep hold on all of her items, blinking and huffing at the man, who seemed to be just as surprised and agitated as she was. 

“Excuse me, watch where you’re going.” She hissed, hugging her groceries protectively as she tried to get around him. But to her surprise, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back a little and causing her to lose grip on the full bag in her arms. She let out a little gasp as the bag tipped out of her reach and onto the street, it’s contents spilling out as it did so. 

“Damn it!” She cried, getting to her hands and knees, scrambling to get her food out of the way of pairs of feet attached to annoyed passersby. 

“Oh- blimey, I’m so sorry.” The man was saying, getting to his knees as well, attempting to help. Faina made a pitiful sound as she watched a man step on her bananas, and give her a confused glare as he wiped his shoe on the pavement. She sat back and looked sadly at the small amount they’d managed to get back into her bag, doing the math in her head of how much money she’d just lost. 

“I really am sorry.” The man was saying again, staying on his knees in front of her. It occurred to Faina how funny the pair must look, and got to her feet hurriedly, brushing herself off and lifting her bag in her arms again. 

“Yeah, you said that already. I’ll be going, now.” She replied curtly, and tried to move past him. 

“No way, sorry, I’m just- could you maybe- where are we?” He asked shyly, having moved to block her path. The woman blinked at him, and suddenly felt very shy under his gaze. His eyes were wide, nervously darting around the city center, and Faina suddenly felt her anger falter, replaced by worry for the stranger. 

“We’re- we’re right by the Covent Garden stop. Are you alright? Have you hit your head, maybe?” The groceries loosened in her grasp as she examined his forehead. It didn’t seem to be banged up in any way, and the man shook his head frantically, running a hand through his hair. 

“No, no. I just- my brother played a prank on me is all. And I’m not sure how to get back, as it happened before I could grab my wa-” He paused, glancing at Faina, who was looking up at him in curiosity. She found him attractive, she realized, with his long nose and big eyes. She blushed when she realized it might look like she’d been staring a little, not realizing he was looking for words. 

“Your wallet?” She suggested kindly. 

“Yeah- yes. Yes exactly. My wallet.” He said the word like it was forigen in his mouth, and Faina wondered if maybe he wasn’t from around the city. She couldn’t really place his accent- but then again, Faina had a hard time placing British accents, having grown up in the US. 

“My wallet-” He was repeating, “And I just- I got nervous, I suppose, since I heard your American accent. But we’re somewhere in London. We are in London, right?” The man whipped to look at Faina directly, panic in his eyes. Faina laughed nervously. 

“Yeah, we’re in London. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? Have you maybe been… Drinking?” She said cautiously, unsure of how the man might react to such a suggestion. He huffed slightly, and ran a hand through his hair again, making it stick up in a stupid way. His clothes were also rather strange, Faina realized, examining the brown corduroy suit, matching suit jacket and purple button up. It looked as though he was from another century. Or had been dressed by an old woman. She wrinkled her nose slightly at the outfit. 

“I haven’t been drinking.” The man said with a huff, looking around, seeming exasperated, “I was working. And then Fred-” He stopped, shaking his head and wringing his hands. “Ah, that bloody twat. I’m going to kill him when I get home.”  
Faina laughed slightly, then frowned.  
“Do you need fare for the tube, then? I have a monthly pass, I can swipe you in if you need.”  
The man clapped his hands, nodding at her frantically. 

“Yes- yes, exactly. I- I have to get to uh..” He paused, fumbling around his suit for something, and brought out a little address book, flipping through it. “I need to find 48 Charing Cross road.” He said firmly, snapping the book closed. Faina frowned, brow furrowing, and fumbled around herself for her phone. 

“I’m actually pretty sure that’s super close to here.” She murmured, and the man peaked over her shoulder as she opened Google Maps. “What was the address again?” 

“48 Charing Cross.” The man said distractedly, seemingly fascinated with her phone. Faina got a little nervous as he leered over her shoulder, and shot him a confused look, gripping the thing tighter as it loaded. 

“Ah- yeah, yup. It’s like a four minute walk from here. I can walk you there if you need, it’s on my route to the station.” 

“Would you really!” He seemed so relieved to not have to navigate the streets himself, and Faina frowned again. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? Is there maybe someone I could call for you?” She said in a serious tone. The man offered her a crooked grin. 

“No, I really appreciate the offer. I really am fine, just a little disoriented, I suppose. But if I can get back to that address, then I know exactly how to get back home.”  
“Okay..” Faina let out, singing it a little in a disbelieving tone. But the man just continued smiling, and she gestured with her phone. “It’s that way.”  
“Oh- right. Ah- I’m George, by the way.” He said, awkwardly sticking out his hand as they walked. Faina struggled a little with switching her phone to the hand clutching her groceries to her chest, and shook the offered hand lightly. 

“Faina.” She said gently, going back to clutch her bag. 

“Do you um- Can I carry that for you?” George asked gently, noting how she was struggling. 

“No, thanks. I’m all good.” She offered him a tight smile, and he seemed to retract a little, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked. 

“It’s pretty much a straight shot.” Faina felt like mentioning after they’d fallen into an uncomfortable silence. It was a little hard navigating and walking with her big bag at the same time, so she finally clicked her phone to sleep and slid it into her jacket pocket. The man hummed in acknowledgment, and they fell into silence again. 

“What do you do, Faina?” He asked gently. His long strides were hard to keep up with, and Faina felt a little faint at the idea of keeping up a conversation as well.

“Me? I’m a uh- I’m a personal stylist.”  
“Personal Stylist?” George asked curiously. 

“Yeah. I basically tell people what to wear.” She blew some hair out of her face, and George noticed her struggling. 

“Are you sure I can’t help with the bag?” He asked again, and she huffed slightly, feeling very agitated by the whole situation. 

“We’re almost there.” She grunted. He stayed quiet again, and they continued without speaking until they arrived at their destination. 

“This is it! Thank you, Faina, you’ve been a great help.” The man exclaimed, moving to shake the woman’s hand again. She did so awkwardly, and he paused for a second before going into the building. 

“Well, okay, I’ll be going then.” Faina finally muttered, turning to walk away. 

“Ah- um, wait.” The man called, and she turned to see a small card being tucked into her grocery bag. 

“Call me sometime. I owe you a drink, at the least, for helping me today.” George offered her a slightly shy smile, and Faina blinked at him for a few moments. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you around, George.”  
He nodded, and waved slightly, and then just sort of stood awkwardly as he waited for her to turn and return on her walk. Upon doing so, there was something that urged her to glance back at the man, and to her astonishment, he was gone. 

**  
  
  
**

“I think I’m losing my mind.” Faina was saying to her friend on the phone. She’d gotten home okay, still feeling confused and put out by the entire exchange with the strange red headed man. 

“What, because you saw a hot beautiful fairy man who offered you a gift?” Faina’s friend, named Emilia, who had been her roommate back in New York and best friend ever since, said haughtily through the phone. Faina grimaced at the way her friend put it, and rested her chin against her knee, staring at the card in her hand. 

“It’s shiny. Maybe he was a fairy.” She mused, watching the text glisten in her dimly lit apartment. A bottle of red wine was open on her table, a glass half full just in her reach, her groceries still out on the counter. 

“It honestly sounds like he was. Maybe if you take that drink you’ll end up actually losing your mind or something. Trapped in the fairy world. Oh my god- if you get married to a fairy prince, you’ll invite me to your wedding right? I willingly risk my sanity.”  
“What sanity?” Faina said without thinking, and Emilia gave a haughty ‘ha ha’ through the speaker. 

“You should text him, though. It’s been a while since you’ve been on a date. I can practically hear your sexual frustration from here.”  
Faina groaned, letting the card fall to the couch as she reached for her wine. 

“Seriously, Faina, when was the last time you got laid?”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Faina muttered through her sip, and her friend cackled on the other line. 

“Yeah, me too. Look at us- what happened! We were so much fun in college.” Faina could practically see Emilia’s deep sigh and sad puppy eyes at the idea. 

“I know, we really were, weren’t we.” Faina said in a gentle tone, thinking back to how Emilia and her would spend long nights out in the city, drinking for free and dancing on tables, bringing home a new pretty boy every other night. And now she was completely alone in London, for work, and Emilia was stuck back in her hometown, saving up to move somewhere- _anywhere_ \- else. 

“I miss you.” Emilia’s voice was softer than it had been. Faina sighed deeply. 

“I miss you too. I’m so lonely.” 

“Text the fairy boy. It’ll be good for you. Maybe at the least, you could make a friend?” 

“Yeah.” Faina knew her friend was right, “Yeah, okay, I’ll text him.” 

They didn’t speak for much longer, and Faina was left alone in the silence of her apartment after Emilia hung up, holding the card up again, sipping her wine idly. The more she studied the little piece of paper, the more it seemed like the words were actually… Moving. She blinked and shook her head, rubbing her eye childishly. It was the wine, probably. Or she was just tired. She sighed and glanced at her watch, which told her she should have been in bed a couple of hours ago. Faina placed the card on her table, next to the wine, and went about putting her groceries away. She noted that she had to get more bananas, and realized that she was missing an orange or two. 

Eventually, Faina had sort of forgotten about the card, and about the man, absently rearranging her dry goods cabinet, refilling her flour jar, throwing away any boxes that were pretty much empty. And then suddenly, it dawned on her that she wasn’t sure where her sketchbook was. She had been sure it had been in her reusable grocery bag earlier. That’s where she’d put it when she left the house, anyway. Faina frantically looked through the last few items, but the little black book definitely wasn’t there. Then she went and looked through her other bag, but found nothing. She retraced her steps around the apartment, wondering if she had placed it down somewhere without remembering. But her sketchbook was nowhere to be seen. She glanced at her watch. It told her it was nearly one am. Well, if the mysterious man had seen it, surely he wouldn’t be able to tell her anytime soon. Faina’s heart hammered in her chest. There were some seriously private things in that book, scrawled in between strange and personal drawings. Without thinking, Faina went to her phone, and typed out a message to the silvery number on the card. 

‘Hi! It’s the girl from earlier today- did you by any chance happen to pick up a small black sketchbook? Or maybe see it drop somewhere around where we were? I’ll pass by covent garden today- please let me know if youve seen it!!’ 

Her palms were sweaty as she pressed the send button and closed messages quickly, placing her phone face down on the table and turning to continue cleaning her kitchen. She was surprised when her phone buzzed. She hadn’t thought that he’d get back to her so quickly. Faina hurried over to the device, and frowned at the message it showed. 

‘Msg unable to send.’

She tried again a couple of times. Then she double checked the number. Still, the text message wouldn’t go through. Faina felt a little dizzy. Had the fairy man given her a faulty card? Maybe he was some sort of scammer- her friend had told her once about that. About how sometimes they’d make you go somewhere and rob you blind while you walked. She ran over to her coat, feeling for her wallet, but it was still there, along with all its contents. Faina frowned. Maybe he was some sort of sex trafficker. What if the number was actually a tracking device? She felt anxiety take over, and there was no stopping her stream of thoughts now. She tried to busy herself with finishing up with her kitchen. Then she made herself a little snack. Then she browsed Netflix for a while, finishing off her bottle of wine and opening a new one. Eventually, Faina fell asleep watching an old episode of Gossip Girl, just as the sun had started to peak through her curtains. 


	2. Chapter Two: George

* * *

" _A soul connection is when two people feel they are linked on a soul level in a significant or extraordinary way. It's the sense that your link transcends the earth plane—transcending the practical details of your relationship, like being co-workers or lovers—and that something much more brought you together or is at play. You might feel you have known each other in a past life or that your souls agreed before this life to meet up now._ "

Faina wrinked her nose at her webscreen, clicking the site closed. ([quote source](https://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-22169/you-have-4-kinds-of-soul-mates-heres-how-to-recognize-each-one.html))

* * *

George Weasley had not been having a very good day. 

He wasn’t quite sure why his day had felt so miserable. He’d simply woken up on the wrong side of the bed, the man supposed, as he angrily went through the stock list. Opening shift was usually his favorite part of the day, with the gentle morning sunlight and silent, cleanliness of the store. But there was just something about today that was putting him in a foul mood, and that mood continued to follow him as time went on. 

It wasn’t until around lunchtime that he’d finally cooled a little, feeling slightly at ease as the midday shoppers milled around them, infrequent at this time of day. He was intending to restock a few things, heading towards the store room, when he noticed Verity and Fred whispering about something by the cash register. 

“What’s going on over here?” He asked brightly, trying to cover up his sour mood as he sidled up next to his brother, who looked a little put out by his appearance. 

“Verity seems to have been scammed.” The man said haughtily, crossing his arms as their young employee let out a frustrated sound. 

“I have not! My cousin promised it would work! She said it worked for her, and now she’s happily engaged to be married!” The woman was tugging at her short blonde hair, gesturing to the box that sat on the counter before them. 

“What’s it supposed to do?” George asked, frowning at the small thing. It was plain, just with a small heart etched into the wooden lid. 

“Apparently, when you open it, you’re supposed to apparate in front of your _soulmate_.” Fred informed his brother with a cocky tone. Verity let out another frustrated noise. 

“Yes! Your soulmate! The one you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life!” She whined, moving to tug at Fred’s sleeve, who pushed her away slightly. 

“Don’t believe in soulmates, do you, Fred?” George asked haughtily. Fred huffed with disdain. 

“No, George, I don’t believe in any of that rubbish. Stars this and lovers that. All made up by desperate witches hoping to trick a man into falling in love because it was ‘meant to be’.” He raised his voice to a mocking pitch at the end, clapping his hands to his cheeks and making a silly face. George laughed a little as Verity shoved her boss angrily. He felt his bad mood slightly dissipate, and wondered if maybe all he’d needed to do was joke around with Fred some this morning. 

“Have either of you tried it?” He asked curiously, reaching out to stroke a thumb across the lid. 

“No.” Verity said sadly, watching George’s hand, “I’m scared I’ll be disappointed.”

“I have.” Fred said defiantly, pushing George’s hand out of the way to lift the box, closing and opening it rather quickly. Verity squealed in anger and reached out to slap his hands away as the box puttered and spit out some rose smelling smoke. “See?” Fred was saying, laughing a little as Verity finally got his hands away from the box, snatching it up and holding it to her chest protectively. 

“Maybe you’re just bound to be a bachelor your whole life.” George joked, nudging his brother a little. As Fred laughed along, nodding, George noticed something darker flash across his brother’s face. 

He didn’t think much of the thing as the day went on, but he was in a considerably better mood. Humming to himself, even, as he cleaned up some knocked over boxes by the Puking Pustals display. George hadn’t really thought anything of it when Fred tapped him on the shoulder, holding something behind his back.

“Fred? What’s-” Before George could register what was happening, his brother had gripped his hand, placing it on top of a little wooden box and pulling the box open. Suddenly, George felt the familiar tugging and pulling of apparating. And then he was standing in a bustling city square. 

The screens and loud noises were a jolt, shocking George into a panic. He hadn’t even realized he was standing in front of a girl until she spoke up angrily, shaking the man out of his thoughts. 

“Excuse me, watch where you’re going.” She was hissing up at him, carrying what looked to be an overflowing tote of food. He apologized quietly and hurriedly stepped out of her way before two thoughts hit him at once: 

First, her accent was undeniably American.

Second, Fred had made him open the soulmate box. 

Without thinking, George spun on his heel and reached out to grab the girl’s arm, flinching as he caused her to stumble, dropping her groceries. 

“Oh- blimey, I’m so sorry.” He found himself muttering as he dipped to his knees, trying haplessly to help her collect her things. As he did so, he glanced at her curiously. She was small, probably only just reaching his chest when she stood straight. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, and she wore a black wool coat. Her clothes looked expensive, as did the large gold earrings that dangled as she scrambled about the sidewalk. He wondered if maybe she was rich. 

_Fancy that, George_ , he heard Fred’s voice in the back of his mind, as he usually did when his brother wasn’t present, _looks like you got yourself a rich girlfriend_. He waved the thought away as they finished gathering her things. There was a black notebook laying behind the girl, and George crawled to grab it. He went to ask if it belonged to her, but blanched when he met her expression. Guilt at the spilled food tangled in his stomach, and he forgot about the thing in his hands. 

“I really am sorry.” George was saying as he sat back on his heels. They looked at one another for a while, and George found that he did like her face. It was pretty- prettier than anyone he’d ever imagined trying to be with. And her eyes seemed kind, albeit her expression a little frustrated and cold. 

**  
  
  
**

“So, how’d it go?” Fred was wiggling his eyebrows as George finally reentered the shop. 

“She’s a bloody muggle.” He mumbled, feeling hot and nervous. Fred’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair as he trailed after his brother, who was hurrying into the backroom. 

“So it worked! Did you tell her she’s your soulmate- that you two were matched by destiny?” Fred teased, pinching George’s side as the two of them ended up in their shared office. George sniffed, going to cross his arms and level Fred with a glare when he realized he was still holding on to something. In the back of his mind, he supposed, he’d assumed it was just his wand, as most of the time that’s what he was holding in one hand or the other. But it was still the small sketchbook. 

“Fuck.” George spit out as he ran a hand through his hair, holding the thing loosely. 

“What’s that?” Fred pointed at it, and before George could answer, it had been snatched from his hands. 

“Fred-, Fred, don’t!” George scrambled across the desk as Fred laughed, bouncing and dancing out of the long man’s reach. He was flipping through the notebook above his head, gazing at the contents curiously. 

“Bloody hell, George, you’ve definitely got yourself a keeper.” He said suddenly, stopping and holding the book more seriously. George tried again to grab it from the man’s hands but he turned away just in time, making George have to hop a little on one foot to keep from falling. It took him a second to realize that Fred was really frowning at the thing, looking at the pages carefully. George peeked over his shoulder, and was shocked at what he saw. 

The pages were covered in scribbles, delicate script like handwriting, amongst various pencil sketches and inked drawings that were…. Horrific, to say the least. Bloodied messes, monsters baring great teeth, animals with their abdomens split open. Fred’s hands on the book loosened, and George took that as his opportunity to snap the book shut. He tried to shoot a glare at his brother, but instead was met with a look of worry. 

“Suppose your soulmate is a serial killer, George.” His brother’s tone was very serious, and George laughed nervously. 

“She didn’t seem like a serial killer.” He opened the book himself, studying the pages. The notes seemed to sometimes be medical- explaining what the illustrations were, what would happen as a result of an injury, how the body would respond. And then sometimes they were just nonsensical gibberish. 

“You exist in my hand, between the lines, stricken by pen-” Fred read aloud from George’s shoulder, making him jump slightly. The writing was woven around the face of a man, and Fred offered George a great cat-like grin, tapping on the face. “Suppose that’s your competition?”

George started down at the penciled drawing of a man, and wondered who on earth this girl could possibly be. 

**  
  
  
**

It had gotten dark before George allowed himself to look at the book again. He was sitting in the living room of his and Fred’s flat. It was getting late, and the shop had already closed for the day. Fred had invited Verity up for a few drinks, as he did often, and she had politely accepted, as she did often. They two of them sat at the dinner table, giggling and gossiping before Fred finally realized his brother was looking at the sketchbook once more. 

“You know, Verity, George’s soulmate is a psychopath.” He said loud enough that his twin could hear. George let out an indignant snort as Verity’s face lit up. 

“So it worked then? Did you fall in love at once? Oh, George, please tell me how it was.” She got up and ran to his side, face a little flushed from a glass of wine too many. George shook her hands off of his arm as she knelt by him on the couch, face eager to listen. 

“No, no. I do agree with Fred, Verity. You may have been scammed.” He briefly showed her the pages of the book, and she looked at them with wide eyes. 

“She’s really talented.” She whispered, bringing her hand up to brush at the penned image of a man exploding with roses. 

“She’s bloody mental, is what she is.” Fred grumbled as he slumped over to join them, bringing the bottle of wine with him. 

“Oh, she’s not mental.” Verity scolded, shaking her head as she took the book from George’s hands. “She’s hurting. A real romantic. Look- _They kissed for what felt like years, slowly and fiercely without pulling back for air because they were breathing through their noses and it was not romantic, it was not love. It was desperate and lonely but slow and comforting at the same time-_ who do you ‘suppose she’s talking about?” 

“Probably the bloke she keeps drawing.” Fred mused, plopping into an armchair heavily and folding his feet on the coffee table, knocking his foot into Verity every so often. She pushed his feet away as she handed the book back to George. 

“I think she seems like a deep and passionate soul. You’re very luck to have such a beautiful soulmate.” Verity said sternly, and the statement took George by surprise. 

“Yes, well, she didn’t bother calling at all, so-”

“Calling? You gave her your number?” Verity squealed, and George felt his face flush as Fred rolled his eyes. 

“Well, I mean, yeah. It seemed like the right thing to do. She was very pretty, even if she isn’t my soulmate..” 

“But she’s mental, mate. Better safe than sorry.” Fred groaned. 

“She is _not_! George, if she doesn’t call tonight you should call her tomorrow. At least give her her notebook back. This seems like an important thing to lose.” 

George flipped the thing around his hands thoughtfully. 

“You’re right. But how would I know how to call her? She is a muggle, after all.” 

“A muggle?” Verity squeal, ignoring Fred’s dramatic eye roll behind her, “How exciting!”

  
  


“Her number is written on the first page.” Fred said to George softly, long after Verity had left. They had brought out a bottle of whiskey, and were sipping on it idly while listening to the news on a muggle ‘radio’ their father had given them last Christmas.

“It is?” George mused, putting down the book he’d been flipping through and picking the notebook up again. Fred merely hummed in response, and George didn’t notice him watching him flip through the book again curiously. There was something tugging at the back of George’s mind that he couldn’t quite place. A sort of, excitement, maybe. It made his stomach churn. Was this really his soulmate? He brushed his thumb along some of the writing, penned in straight lines against the edge of the page, scrolling upwards instead of across, as if she wrote up instead of side to side. These were her thoughts, her feelings. He wondered what sort of music she listened to, what sort of books she read. She had said she was a ‘stylist’- what did that mean, exactly? 

It took him hours to get to sleep, but when he finally did, the book was tucked under the pillow

next to him.


	3. Chapter Three: Faina

Faina woke up to her ringtone. Bleary eyed, she checked the number, and seeing it was unsaved, closed her eyes and rolled over. But the phone kept ringing. The first few times Faina just silenced the thing, but after the fourth or fifth she finally grabbed the thing with a frustrated noise. 

“Hello?” She grumbled sleepily. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I’d be waking you. It’s just- I- well, I have your sketchbook.”   
Faina sat up, rubbing her eyes. 

“Who is this? You have it? How’d you get this number?” 

“It’s George! From the other day? You have this number written on the first page? I just- sorry. I figured it might be important. Maybe I should have waited for you to call..” he trailed off with an awkward chuckle, and Faina’s mind raced as she tried to register what the man was saying. Call? Why hadn’t he texted?

“Texted?” He said in confusion when she asked him, and her confusion multiplied as he muttered a small ‘hold on’ and there was some shuffling and conversation far away from the phone. Faina swore she could almost hear some sort of explosions going on in the background, as well as upbeat music and laughter. Was this guy an entertainer of some kind?

‘Fairy man’ Emilia’s voice deadpanned in Faina’s head, but she shook her head as it seemed like the man came back to the phone. 

“Ah! Okay, yeah, maybe ‘texting’ would have been a better move. But anyhoo, I do have your book. Maybe I could return it to you over a cup of coffee? Are you free this weekend at all?” There it was again, that tone, as if George had never said the word ‘texting’ in his life. Faina registered his question, and Emilia’s voice was in her ear again, screaming that she should go. She bit her lip, moving to put the man on speaker as she checked her schedule. 

“Yeah I’m- I’m free tomorrow, I guess. I have a meeting at around eleven but- I should be done with that after one or so?” 

“One? Sure, yeah, I should be too, let me just- hey, Freddie-” The phone was far away again, and Faina registered it had sounded like the man had actually put the phone  _ down _ . She hadn’t heard a noise like that since she was a kid, she mused, and she was calling her friends on the family landlin-

A landline. 

“I should be free at on-” George had returned, but Faina barrelled over him. 

“Are you calling me from a  _ landline _ ?” 

“A what?” 

“A landline- George, do you not have a cellphone?” 

“Uh-” There was a long pause as he seemed to put the phone down _ again.  _

_ ‘There’s no way I’m going on a date with one of those guys who don’t have a cellphone’  _ Faina promised herself, chewing on her lip, unhappy to be in this situation. She’d gone out with a guy who didn’t have social media once, and the whole thing was a fucking nightmare. He was so proud and elitist and thought the sun shone out of his ass because he didn’t post on Facebook. Faina couldn’t imagine what someone without an entire phone would be like. She practically shivered at the thought. 

“No of- of course I do! It’s just um- it’s just in the shop.” George was saying, and Faina put her thumbnail in her mouth, as she did when she was thinking. 

“Okay. Okay- just because, I couldn’t get a text through to the number on your card.” 

“Oh so you did try to reach me!” He sounded excited, and Faina blushed at his tone. 

“Well- yeah I wanted to see if you’d seen my sketchbook.”  
“Oh-” He seemed considerably less enthusiastic. “Well, I do have it. You’re very…. talented, you know.” 

“Oh god.” Faina groaned, covering her face with a hand as she fell back onto her bed. “You looked at it.” 

“Ah- sorry, I probably shouldn’t have. That sounds a little invasive, now that I’ve said it outloud. I just- you know, hadn’t realized it was still in my hand when I went inside and- well, I needed to see who’s it was, didn’t I? And then I just- I guess I was curious- sorry, I am sorry, I should’-” There was some sort of murmur from behind him, and George cleared his throat. “I’m rambling. Anyway, I do have to get going, but we’ll get coffee? Tomorrow at one? Let’s say… Bageriet?” 

“Oh- I mean, that place is kind of small. We could just go to a Starbucks- there’s a really good one, right by where I left you. It’s literally like, just around the corner.” 

“Ah- Starbucks. Yeah I just, I know where Bageriet is. But if we could just meet back where you’d dropped me off, that’d be grand.” 

“Yeah that works. Could you just retext me the address so I have it?” 

“Um, well, see I can’t because my-”

“Oh, right! Your phone’s broken. Um, okay- here, let me open my notes app- could you just repeat it for me?” 

He did, and Faina thanked him. They exchanged a pleasant goodbye, and he hung up with a click. Faina thought over the conversation with a newfound curiosity. Maybe whatever prank George’s brother had done the other day had resulted in a broken phone as well? Regardless, maybe it would be nice to go on a date while the other person had no distraction. Faina tried to think if she’d ever been on a date where there were no awkward pauses filled with silent phone scrolling. 

She checked her phone again, and sighed as she realized she wouldn’t have enough time to do her morning meditation today. Getting out of bed and bustling around her small apartment, she showered, dressed, made her bed and signature iced coffee. And then she headed out to meet Roza, as she did most mornings. 

  
  


Roza was Faina’s assistant, of sorts. They were kind of friends, and liked to hang out, but there was an odd inequality to the relationship. Roza was a student at Saint Martin’s, and she’d been suggested to Faina when she was looking for someone to help her with a couple of errands for photoshoots. She was a mentor of sorts, Faina supposed, to the younger girl. But they were also both raised by Eastern European parents, and so there was a sort of comradery there you can only find in someone who was raised the same way you were. Besides, they could gossip in Russian together at jobs, which was always fun. 

“Thank god you’re finally here.” Roza hissed into Faina’s ear as she sat down next to her in the lobby of some expensive apartment complex, “ _ This fucking guy won’t stop hitting on me. _ ” 

Faina laughed awkwardly as she looked between Roza and the man in question, an oily haired older man with a hooked nose and dressed in all black. He stared at her with beady eyes, and Faina gave him her coldest smile, sneaking an arm around her friend. 

“Can I help you?” She said steadily, and the man’s nostrils flared. 

“I suppose I was just leaving.” He said in a slow, chilling manner, before turning away on his heel swiftly. 

“What the fuck was that.” Faina giggled, giving an expression of confused amusement to Roza, who simply giggled back, letting out a great sigh. 

“I was trying to be cold and stern, like you told me, but I just don’t think I have the hang of it yet.” The girl said sadly as the two of them settled in to wait for their client. Faina smiled and shook her head. Roza was beautiful- like, model level beautiful. Tall and skinny, with a tiny nose and tiny features, she often found herself being harassed and cornered by strange guys. Faina was pretty herself, sure, but she knew she was nowhere near Roza’s level. And being around women who looked exactly like her her whole life, it was hard for Roza to imagine why she was constantly being singled out in groups whenever she went out with friends. Faina had felt pity for her when Roza confided once that her friends at university seemed to exclude her from their group outings sometimes just for that reason, and so Faina had found herself hanging out more and more often with her. 

Their newest client was an older, single man. Faina hadn’t met him in person before, and was shocked when the tall, gangly man came walking up to them. 

“Finch Griffins?” She said cautiously, and the man gave her a huge grin. 

“That’s me!” He said brightly, offering a hand for her to shake. She took it as she stood, studying the man, trying to conceal her shock. He stuck out in the fancy apartment lobby like a sore thumb, with a balding ponytail, a dirty t-shirt with holes in it, crooked round glasses and a pair of ripped jeans. The thing that had struck her most was his American accent. Rhotic, like hers, but American nonetheless. 

“I’m Faina Davis. This is my assistant, Roza.” She gestured to the girl, who was still sitting, and she waved shyly. “Mr.Griffins, this is-”  
“Oh, please, call me Finch.” The man said, waving a hand at her dismissively. She blinked, unused to his casual demeanor. Usually the men Faina styled were curt, short tempered, demanding some sort of respect, as if they were somehow embarrassed by needing a personal stylist. 

“I’m so glad you’re willing to help me.” The man was saying, continuing, sitting down in one of the chairs across from them. Faina sunk back into the chair she’d been in, surprised. “I recently started a really important project- something that could really change the world. And I- I’ve come into some money, as a result. But that money means I’m going to have to be in a uh- a public eye, of sorts.”

“What do you mean of sorts?” Faina said faintly, reaching for her iPad so she could take notes. The man eyed the device fondly, and she glanced in confusion between him and the screen. 

“I mean, I’m going to be photographed with some very high up people. Nobody you guys will know, though, of course.” He waved a hand at Roza’s mouth, which had opened to question, and she closed it with a small sound. “I’m in the tech business. Nobody that interests you. Nobody that you’ll know. And I also-” He lowered his voice then, and Faina leaned in to hear a little better, “I’m going to need discretion. My wife, she isn’t aware that I’ve hired, well-” He glanced between the two of them, and cleared his throat. Faina nodded in understanding. Sometimes men didn’t want their wives to know that they had pretty young women shopping for them. It seemed sketchy enough on paper without having to see Roza in person as well. 

“So do you not live here?” Roza piped up, and Faina gave her a stern look as Finch laughed genuinely. 

“I live in a lot of places. But I do have a place here. It’s not my main place of residence. So- how does this work? I’m famished. Can I buy you guys food?” 

“I mean, you’re more than welcome to, but you’re also paying us for our time.” Faina reminded him gently. The man shook his head, gesturing for them to stand up with them. 

“Let me just go grab a sweater, there’s this great joint just around the corner. Has the best burgers I could find in London. Almost as great as the East Coast.” He winked at Faina, and she offered a tense smile. 

The restaurant was nicer than Faina had expected, and she eyed the man’s worn sweatshirt critically as he ran through the menu, pointing out all of the things that he liked and didn’t like. Roza listened earnestly, but it took all of Faina’s self restraint to not burst out laughing at the way her nose turned up at the American food. 

“Oh, and you guys, I really hope you don’t mind- a colleague of mine might pop by for just a minute. He’s just hungry, honestly, and we’ve been trying to meet up for lunch. I really hope you don’t mind. We won’t talk work, promise, we can just talk about what we need to. And you’re welcome to leave at any time, obviously.” 

“Mr.Griffins-”

“Finch.”

“Finch,” Faina smiled tightly, “Of course, that’s all perfectly okay. Just remember, we’re on your dollar. So if you’re wasting time, you’re also wasting your money.”   
She was trying to be polite, honest. But sometimes these men would invite them out to eat, invite them out to party, invite them out to be _seen_ with Roza. And as nice as being pampered in such a way was, Faina and Roza weren’t Sugar Babies- and Faina wanted to be taken seriously as a stylist. 

“Yes, of course. As I said, once we get through what we have to, you two are more than welcome to leave the table. Even if it’s smack in the middle of the meal.”   
He smiled what Faina supposed was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it made her feel a little put out. They ordered food rather hurriedly, Roza getting a side salad and Finch chiding her, telling her she could really use some ‘meat on those bones’. Faina watched Roza’s face tint pink at the comment, and she ordered a side of plain buttered pasta as well. 

“So!” Finch said cheerfully, clasping his hands together on top of the table, “How does this all work?” 

Faina was suddenly acutely aware of how public of a space they were in, sitting up right next to the restaurant window. She wondered where Finch’s need for discretion went as she pulled her ipad out again, tapping the screen and opening her notes app. 

“My first and foremost priority is your comfort in the clothes you wear,” Faina started, going into her usual speech about dress and clothing with her new clients. She talked about how she felt that what you wear was important to how you present yourself to the world, that it’s important you feel confident in what you wear, etc, etc. Finch encouraged her along with cheerful nods and affirming hums, and Faina felt more and more confident about what she was saying. She didn’t know why, but Finch’s bright and cheerful personality was growing on her. Maybe it was because he reminded her a little of her Uncle Greg. 

“So, we’ll start by talking about the types of things you look for in clothing-” She finally got to, eyeing the man’s dirty, worn out clothing, “And then we’ll look at shapes and fit you’re comfortable wearing, and then I’ll do some color studies to match your skin tone, and-” 

She was interrupted by a tall man stumbling into the restaurant, looking around the place with an expression of bewilderment. Faina paused, glancing at Roza as the man locked onto their table, and bounded towards it. He was tall, and had a balding mop of bright ginger hair. He looked oddly familiar, Faina realized, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. His clothes, however, were suddenly the only thing she could focus on. Why would anyone put a green pinstripe vest underneath a brown pinstripe jacket? And that shade of brown with his pale and ginger complexion? The outfit was so oddly outdated and poorly put together that Faina had to literally restrain herself from making a face. Roza, it appeared, could not, and the man found himself facing a rather beautiful grimace as he reached the table. 

“Weasley!” Finch cried, getting up from the table and clasping the tall man, patting him on the back briskly. The man chortled in response, patting his friend back before sliding into the chair Finch pulled up for him. 

“Hello girls.” He said kindly, and Faina was once again struck by an odd familiarity about the man. 

“Hi.” Roza said shyly as Faina struggled to assess the situation. 

“Hello.” She said as brightly as she could muster, and the man smiled at them both. 

“I’m Arthur.” He stuck out a hand, and they both shook it quickly. Finch patted his colleague on the shoulder. 

“Arthur’s a pal from the project I’ve been telling you two about. Or, well, he’s the middleman. But it’ll make us a shitton of money if we’re successful, won’t it bud.” Finch grinned at the man, who smiled at him nervously. He seemed a little overwhelmed, and Faina had a curious tugging in her gut to figure out why. But just as she was about to ask, the food arrived, and Finch encouraged her to continue their conversation about clothing. 

They did, and Faina finally felt like what they were doing was actually work. Arthur would occasionally ask a few questions and add a few comments of how he himself noted that his colleague dressed- some teasing jabs, earning him quite a few chortles from Finch. The two seemed to interact like old friends rather than workmates, and Faina was suddenly intrigued by what sort of project they may be working on. Arthur also asked lots of questions about Faina’s iPad, and Roza’s phone, and even at one point asked if he could look at one. Faina had handed her own phone over cautiously, and then man seemed fascinated with the thing, handling it carefully as if he’d never seen one before. Roza relayed this to the pair, and Arthur’s face flushed as he hurriedly pushed the phone back into Faina’s hands. 

“No, no- it’s just, it’s just that type- you know. The uh” He waved his hand around. 

“The 7?” Faina suggested with a raised brow. Arthur snapped and pointed at her.   
“Exactly. The 7. I haven’t seen the 7.”   
“It’s such an old model..” Roza noted with a scrunched nose, holding her own iphone 11 tightly. 

“Oh, well, Arthur’s… He’s from the country.” Finch said simply, nodding as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation. The two girls didn’t press further as Arthur agreed frantically with the man. 

“ _ This man is insane. _ ” Roza hissed in Russian, leaning close to Faina’s ear. Faina huffed in amusement, but shook her head. 

“ _ It’s just a job. We only need a couple more things and then we can leave. No food next time, promise. _ ” 

Roza nodded approvingly. 

  
  
  
  


They left before Arthur did, in the end, leaving him and Finch in a passionate conversation about the different types of laptops. 

“That was so weird.” Roza cried as they walked towards the tube. Faina hummed in agreement, surveying darkening streets. The days were shorter now, and even though it wasn’t even 3 pm, it felt like dinner time. 

“Do you want to get a drink? On me.” Faina mused. Roza’s eyes lit up. “Just one, though.” Faina chided, and the girl nodded diligently.

They found a place that was selling warm wine, something Faina loved to indulge in during the colder months, and they sat at the empty bar, gossiping about the day and the people they’d just met. 

“His outfit-” Roza was saying, and Faina shook her head, sputtering out a laugh. 

“I know. It was so awful.”   
“I’ve never seen anyone dressed so terribly.”   
“Not around here, anyway.”   
They paused. 

“Maybe we’re too hard on him.” Roza said sheepishly after the bartender gave them a curious look. He was cute, and Faina could see the way that Roza got nervous whenever he got close. 

“Yeah, maybe.” She mused as she lifted the glass to her lips. 

They were quiet for a moment, and Faina watched people walk past the small bar with disinterest, a few coming inside every now and then. It was properly dark now, and the streetlamps cast a dull, warm glow. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend? There’s going to be a party tomorrow night. I was wondering, if maybe-” Roza ducked her face slightly behind her hair, and Faina was too distracted to notice that it was flushed pink, “-maybe you’d be interested in attending?” 

“Oh, Roza, that’s very sweet of you, but are you sure you’d want an old lady like me at your party?” 

Roza blinked, shaking her head. 

“You’re not old! Besides, it’s a music thing. There’ll definitely be at least someone who’s 22 there, if not older.” 

Faina sighed, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear thoughtfully. 

“I have a date tomorrow. But maybe we could make an appearance.”   
Roza hesitated, but Faina was already glancing at her phone, and finishing her drink. She would have said something, slightly offhandedly, about Faina maybe ditching her date to show up alone, but was interrupted by Faina’s head popping towards her suddenly. The woman’s face was lit with shock. 

“George- that guy today looked like  _ George _ !”


	4. Chapter Four: Fred

* * *

“ _A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing_.” _teased Verity._  
  


_"Who said that?" asked Fred._

_"I did." She paused, and Fred gave her an incredulous look. "But I suppose Oscar Wilde came up with it.'"  
And Fred laughed._

* * *

Something about the box bugged Fred Weasley. 

Verity had shown him the delicate, faded letter she’d received with it. The scrawling text had seemed a good enough explanation for how the thing worked. But he also didn’t believe in soulmates. 

“It’s such a load of nonsense.” He was grumbling to Ron over a coffee, sometime after George had called the girl from the day before. 

“Maybe you’re just jealous that George might have found someone.” Ron offered bluntly, and Fred pulled a face at his brother. 

“Jealous? Of George? What an idea.” He scoffed, shaking his head and sipping at his cup of black coffee. But there may be some truth to Ron’s words. Why had the thing worked for George and not him? Fred’s stomach twisted at the thought. ‘ _ Maybe you’re just bound to be a bachelor your whole life.’  _ George’s teasing voice bounced around in Fred’s head, the way it did often when they weren’t together- usually keeping Fred out of trouble or holding him back from doing something brash. But this statement was bugging the man in such a different way- it was almost haunting him. Maybe he was supposed to just be alone his whole life? The idea crawled around his brain while Ron prattled on in front of him, giving updates on the latest case he and Harry were working on. 

“Suppose I really will be a bachelor for the rest of my life-” Fred said suddenly, interrupting Ron in the middle of his sentence. Ron huffed at the blatant fact that Fred hadn’t been listening, but let it slide, as it wasn’t often Fred actually was listening. “-’suppose I’m alone my whole life. Is that… Sad?” 

“I thought you didn’t believe in soulmates.” Ron replied in a teasing tone, and Fred rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“I don’t. But- just hypothetically. If they’re real. Can someone really not have a soulmate?” 

Ron shrugged.   
“I was never any good at divination.” He said simply and Fred let out a little scoff. 

“Well, obviously, this isn’t divination. Is it?” 

“I would think it would be?” Ron’s brow furrowed in thought. “You know, destiny and all that. Besides, mate, I don’t think you have to worry too much about it. It’s not like you have any trouble in the ladies department. You’re usually the one doing the breaking up.” 

Fred grunted in agreement, but there was something tugging at the back of his mind now. Maybe there was a reason he hadn’t felt any sort of real connection in his dating life. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to stay with anyone. The thought brought forth a sense of overwhelming loneliness that Fred really hadn’t anticipated when first fooling around with Verity’s trinket. He was sure he didn’t believe it was real. 

“‘Sides, if that girl really is George’s soulmate, sounds like he’s in for a bit of a rough one.” Ron chuckled, moving to sip at his own coffee. 

“-Hello boys!” A voice came from behind the two of them suddenly, and Fred turned to spot his father bounding through the nearly empty cafe, his shoulder bag looking heavier than normal. He was joined by a slightly shorter man with crooked round glasses and a balding ponytail. “Boys-” Arthur was saying as he reached the two men, “-this is Finch Griffins.” 

“Griffins!” Ron exclaimed, standing suddenly and nearly knocking his coffee across the table in his rush to shake the man’s hand. Finch offered a bright smile, returning the handshake with equal enthusiasm. “Ron, Ron Weasley. I’m an Auror, at the ministry. Been hearing a lot about your work- fascinating stuff.”   
“Oh- well thanks man. It’s good to know that people are taking interest in it.” Finch replied humbly, and Fred was surprised to hear his American accent. 

“And you must be one of the Wizard Wheezes men!” He was saying, turning to Fred, who shook his hand a little less enthusiastically. 

“Yeah- Fred.” He said with a polite smile as Ron and Arthur drew some more chairs to the table, encouraging them to join the two. Finch sat close to Fred, as Arthur moved to sit across from him. 

“You know, Fred, you could really use some of the stuff Finch has been doing in your guys’ shop. Could make for some interesting products.” Arthur was saying, nudging his son a little and wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh yeah?” Fred said, interest peaking at the idea of having new material for his work, his earlier worries about soulmates and love lives fading to the back of his mind. Ron was nodding in agreement, grinning from ear to ear. “What is it you do?” 

“Well-” Finch seemed a little shy under all the attention, but his warm face glowed as he spoke about his work, “I’m a no-maj born, and my dad- he was a pioneer in the computer sciences,”  
“Computer?” Fred repeated, looking towards his father questioningly, but the man was already rummaging through his beaten shoulder bag, and procuring some sort of thin silver rectangle. He passed it to Finch, who to Fred’s surprise, unfolded the rectangle. There were lines of buttons with letters of the alphabet, various symbols, and numbers on one side. The other side glowed and started to show images. Finch touched a little smaller rectangle underneath the lines of buttons, and the images disappeared, showing a simple icon and a little bar. He typed something with the buttons, and the rectangle was now showing a picture of the Weasley family, with little images of folders decorating over one side, and a line with a couple of strange looking symbols decorating the bottom. 

“Computer.” Finch said with a satisfied tone as Ron and Fred stared at the thing in dumbfounded fascination. “This,” he gestured to the item, “Is a laptop. Essentially, Fred, what I’m doing is I’m working to finally integrate no maj tech into the wizarding world. Too long we’ve been disconnected from the rest of society, and I truly think it’s time to catch up.”   
“Hermione has one of these.” Ron said brightly, tapping the top of the laptop. “She won’t let me near it though. Afraid I’ll break it.” 

“They can get to be pretty expensive.” Arthur said glumly, and Fred noticed that the thing looked a little worn, with small scratches and nicks across the light grey surface. 

“I’m also working with people to get some sort of wizarding phone out on the market. It’s looking

promising. Actually, Arthur-” Finch was reaching into his own bag as he spoke, which looked newer and more plastic than Arthur’s authentic leather one. “I have something for you. We finally got a prototype working, and since you’ve been so great in the communications department- which I,” He looked between Fred and Ron as if the information he was about to share was pretty shameful, “Am admittedly, the fucking worst at- I figured you and your family can be part of test group. Obviously, they might be a little finicky, but-” He held out a little black box across the table to Arthur, who looked at it with a bewildered expression. 

“Oh, Merlin, Finch, I can’t take that.” He sputtered, folding his hands in his lap meekly. 

“No, really, I insisted man. You’ve been such a help- this whole project would have never gotten off the ground if it weren’t for you and your passion for no maj products.” 

Arthur’s face flushed, and he accepted the box shyly. Fred watched as his father opened it, pulling out a little rectangle device. 

“So are these- do these work the same as the muggle ones?” Ron was asking excitedly as Finch showed Arthur how to boot it up, a little crescent moon appearing on the screen. 

“Essentially, what these guys are, are Apple iPhones that connect through magic barriers. We’ve managed to mimic cell waves with some tweaked communication spells, and these will have features that are just for the wizarding community- like Wizarding news, a wizarding browser, etc. I’ve got a guy working in Silicon Valley on an app that’s supposed to send a notification if there’s magic nearby- we’ll probably get those as a starter as well. Just a couple of fun things.”   
“And this- ‘apple’- they’re a muggle thing?” Fred was asking curiously, watching Arthur struggle with the small device, pressing on the screen too hard, swiping fast, an expression of excited glee painting his face. 

“Kind of. Wozniak, who created the tech for Apple is a no maj. Genius of a man, one of my heroes. Jobs though, Jobs was a wizard. So, the company has a little bit of both working within it. But I’m the first one to really approach the idea of making tech like this solely for Wizarding society.” Finch’s voice was proud, but his stature appeared slightly meek as he declared his importance to the product. 

“Do they connect to the muggle phones?” Ron was asking, and Finch nodded a little. 

“Well, of course- fundamentally, they’re the same. Just with some added Wizard perks. We’re also rolling out the new MacBook- that’s what this thing is called-” he gestured to the previously labelled laptop- “with a special wizarding world package. Apple’s looking to open a store up here in Diagon Alley before these things get on the market. That’s what I’m here for.” 

He offered a toothy grin, and Fred found himself feeling a little overwhelmed at the whole idea. 

“Blimey, I wonder what Hermione’ll be saying about all of this.” Ron was muttering, watching as Finch helped Arthur set up his device. 

“Hermione is Ron’s girlfriend-” Arthur explained to Finch as he tapped where the other man pointed, “She’s also muggleborn, like you.”  
“Oh well neat! Ron, it’d actually be great to be able to talk to her. I do want to get some sort of idea on how people will be responding to all of this- especially those who’ve been exposed to muggle tech already.” 

“Fred, you’ve been awfully quiet. Isn’t this exciting?”

The three men turned to look at him, and Fred shifted uncomfortably, feeling a little warm.   
“I just- I mean, I guess I’m just confused by all of it, is all.” He admitted feebly, feeling a little out of his element. Fred never felt feeble. He never was confused. But the devices on the table, causing curious glances by passersby, were giving him a bit of a headache. Apps? MacBook? IPhone? It was a lot to take in. 

Finch clapped him on the back and Fred leaned away from the gesture awkwardly, but the man’s gentle smile made him feel a little less lost. 

“Dude, it’s all good. It’s brand new to you guys- that’s a totally valid response. Look, I’ve got eight more of these, one for each of your family. I want you to really try to use them! And if you’re ever confused, my number will be the first you get- I need to know what sorts of things will be overwhelming. It’s important to know for us, you know?” And Fred found a little black box of his own being pushed into his hands. 

“You will come to family dinner tomorrow night, right Fred? Bill and Charlie are in town. They want to see you guys.” Arthur’s voice was soft as Ron and Finch prattled away between the two of them. 

“Ah, fuck. I think George’s got a date. We might have to skip out.” Fred said awkwardly. His father raised a critical brow. It wasn’t that Fred didn’t like family dinner. It wasn’t even that Fred meant to skip out on it so often. But ever since opening the store and moving out, Fred liked his independence. Having a big family meant having to spend a lot of time within a lot of noise talking to a lot of people. And he already was doing enough of that in between work, friends, and his ever changing female companions. 

“Maybe he could bring her. It was nice when you brought that lovely girl the other time- what was her name again?”   
“Uh- Abby?” Fred supplied absently, looking anywhere but his father’s face, the thoughts of the soulmate box and it’s faultiness creeping back into his mind. 

“Yes! Abby! Whatever happened to her? She was so kind and polite. And such a pretty face.” Arthur was looking at his son curiously, but the man wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Fred dumped her, dad.” Ron said cheerfully, him and Finch tuning into their conversation. 

“Dumped?” Arthur looked between his two boys with an incredulous expression, “But why?”  
“Apparently she was too clingy.” Ron’s voice was teasing and Fred shot him a warning glare, but the man merely snickered into his coffee cup. 

“Clingy?” Arthur muttered in amusement as Finch laughed at the exchange. 

“Oh, I remember those days.” The man said, shaking his head, “Of course, when the wife appeared before me one day, I couldn’t deny our fated match.”   
“Appeared?” Fred repeated suddenly, and Ron was giving him a knowing glance. 

“Well- ah- it’s a bit of an embarrassing story, actually.’ Finch said, his face flushing as he reached to scratch at the back of his head, “Sort of silly.” 

“We like silly.” Ron encouraged, placing his cup down noisily. Finch let out an awkward chuckle, looking between the three. 

“Well, okay. My wife- Gilda- was gifted this um, family heirloom on her twenty-fifth birthday. Or, well, sort of. Apparently it’s just sent to whomever really needs it, I guess. Anyway, it’s this box that when you open it it will-”   
“Apparate you to stand in front of your soulmate?” Fred interrupted, and Finch looked at him in surprise, and embarrassment erased from his face. 

“How’d you know?” 

“His cashier just received the box yesterday.” Ron supplied as Fred grew quiet, looking into his coffee cup with a glum expression. 

“Oh really?” Finch’s voice was a mixture of amusement and delight, “God, I haven’t seen that thing in forever. So, did they meet their soulmate? You know, Gilda actually didn’t like me when we first met. But I grew on her, I guess. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. I remember sitting in that cafe and her appearing before me and just thinking, goddamn, I am going to marry that woman one day if it’s the last thing I do.” 

“How romantic.” Arthur said tightly, his expression exposing to his two children that he’d rather be anywhere but here having this conversation. But Finch didn’t know Arthur well enough yet, and so he offered a wide grin, cheeks flushed at the memory. 

“Fred reckons he doesn’t have a soulmate.” Ron said cheerfully, and Fred slid to slouch slightly in his chair, feeling his face burn. 

“I don’t believe in that rubbish anyway.” He muttered, still stubbornly keeping his eyes on his coffee cup. Finch let out a boisterous laugh. 

“Don’t believe in it all you want, son, it’s an unfortunate part of our reality. Why do you think you don’t have one?” 

“It didn’t work.” Fred mumbled.   
“Come again, son?” Arthur teased, interest peaked now that they were talking about Fred’s personal life. Fred’s expression soured greatly. 

“It didn’t work.” He said a little louder. 

“What do you mean, didn’t work?” 

“I opened the thing,” Fred let out a great sigh, slumping further, playing with his coffee cup, “-and nothing happened. Then Verity dared me to make George open it, and I figured playing along wouldn’t hurt, so I did-” 

“And he apparated.” Ron finished in an excitedly hush tone. Fred gestured to Ron, nodding, shrugging, slumping. 

“George met his soulmate? Wow, wait until I tell Molly.” Arthur said with a loving chuckle. 

“Apparently she’s mental, though.” Ron supplied. “And a muggle.” 

“A muggle?” Arthur was leaning forward now, “George’s soulmate is a muggle? Can that happen?” 

“Well, of course.” Finch said suddenly, “Soulmates aren’t just for wizards. Everyone has one. Don’t you know the myth? We used to have two sets of everything- and then we were split, and are forever searching for our other half.” 

“Suppose mum’s your other half, dad?” Ron teased, and Arthur gave a bright, warm smile. 

“Never questioned otherwise, since the moment I laid eyes on her.”   
Finch made a noise of agreement, also smiling, and Fred very suddenly wanted very much to leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this is a new format im trying i hope its working out ok???   
> also i just like the idea of wizards with phones ok i think its funny um   
> hope ur enjoying bless xxx <3


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